The Scars of Adam Faulkner
by Ready Or Notxx
Summary: Shrouded in darkness day after day. He can't control himself, can't find a way to stop. AdamxLawrence, oneshot.


What's this? A new oneshot? Yes, yes, after a long absence, I am finally back. For now. Then I vanish like a ninja again! :D Inspiration: My obsession with cute, drunken Adam. You're welcome. :D

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**The Scars of Adam Faulkner**

The keypad of Adam's cell phone is so mind-boggling right now. His fingers are possessed by some sort of invisible demon or ninja or whatever. Dark demon, dark, evil demon, reaching up inside him or controlling him with translucent strings.

A puppet, just like always. An intoxicated puppet, sitting alone at a bar when it's Saturday night, he's young, he could be out, having fun or smoking his death sticks with a few friends. He could be a reasonable, sane human being for once in his pitiful existence, but no. Never.

Adam can't let himself be happy. Can't let himself feel the joy and elatedness of people who have normal jobs, who aren't gay or paired up with doctors who work their fingers to the bone, who haven't been in control of a serial killer, who haven't been beaten from wall to wall until they're a bloody pile of flesh.

Seldom does Lawrence ask very much of Adam. He usually just asks him to do the laundry, or to do the dishes, or to do things that crack a perverse smile on Adam's face. Ask him to do things like putting down the God damn cigarette so they can have sex, feel their skin glued together by sticky sweat on the couch, Lawrence's tongue and nails across Adam's pale, thin body. Adam moaning and occasionally crying out.

Recently, Adam's tried his best to stop smoking, but sometimes, even your best isn't good enough. Nothing else can cure the taunting black wave that falls over him when Lawrence is at work, and Adam's watching the news.

All he hears about is Jigsaw. Jigsaw survivors, making it to the very end, only to end up blowing their brains out because they can't handle the demons, the darkness and everything that comes with it. They can't handle the shock or the stress, because they know they should've died. Why the hell does Adam even watch the news when he knows what fate will befall him? Maybe it's because he can't resist hoping, having faith that maybe one of Jigsaw's victims has prevailed through the impossible storm, pulled through everything.

Adam has yet to see anything promising, yet to figure out why people like Amanda Young have the courage to claw their way back up and become healthy again when there's a wall between wellness and sickness. When there's nothing but a force field you can't cross.

And Adam disgusts her, every time he sees her on the news telling her damn story. _Okay. You made it. Lawrence and I made it. Now stop fucking crying and leave my TV screen. You're just not talking about what that bastard made you feel, because you know it was way too much._

Adam wants to lean over the balcony built into his apartment and fall to his death. Wants to feel the crunch and snap seize his body as it meets concrete, oh, wouldn't that be just fucking delicious.

And of course, like a virus, Lawrence's voice will pull him back with an invisible arm, cause him to shudder and close his eyes while playing the calm and collected voice over and over in the back of his mind. _"It'll be all right, baby."_

Lawrence has never been much of one for pet names, but he does call Adam "baby" when the photographer's woken up from a frantic nightmare of Jigsaw cutting jigsaw pieces out of his skin, even though he's still alive, he tries to tell him over and over and over that he's not fucking dead yet, but he can never move his mouth in the dream. Only sits and watches the blood flow like it's not supposed to.

Lawrence also calls Adam "baby" when his lover sits down and finally tells the doctor something about himself that he's never shared before, because Adam isn't exactly an open book. Of course Lawrence knows that when Adam's all stiff and he snaps quickly, "I'm all right, I'm all right" that he's _not _all right, that he's going to need help.

Adam sweeps a hand through his hair, trying to remember Lawrence's number as best as he can. It's only a few seconds later that he awakens and discovers he doesn't have to type in the number, just do a magical thing called scrolling through his contact list. His thumb moves against the keypad in a slow enough pace to make someone mental, because Adam needs Lawrence to drive to this damn bar and pick him up on the way home from work. The little guy rubs a fist against his eye and simpers softly. He's been drowning the darkness in so much hazy tequila and scotch lately that he's surprised his brain cells haven't been completely boozed away.

And he can't stop. Adam can't even stop for Lawrence, the one he loves.

Because he's weak. He needs a crutch, and Lawrence hasn't been enough of one, and that's a horrible, horrible thing, because this relationship absolutely cannot survive when one person's constantly on the bathroom counter carving crimson patterns into his arms and the other's off filing fucking charts and taking out appendixes.

Somehow, that must be okay. Lawrence will be getting off from work right about now, so he can pick Adam up and they can go to bed and Adam can curl up against Lawrence's chest and sleep the alcohol off, not even stressing about the bloody hell hangover that'll follow in the morning.

He'll sleep next to Lawrence tonight, not an empty spot in the bed that he pretends is Lawrence, long after Lawrence has left him for the sterilized OR and colleagues who respect him. He'll be able to smile into the kisses Lawrence will plant on his pink lips, and everything should be just fine.

Adam holds the phone to his ear and sobs miserably. Yes, he does hate being drunk, because he only trips over the only two feet he has that are supposed to guide him, not slow him down. Why do people drink when they're suffering from dysthemia anyways, since it's a depressant anyways? That makes about as much sense as a fish breathing air.

When Lawrence picks up the phone, Adam's heart flutters in his chest.

Gotta get up, gotta get out of the water that sucks him down.

Yes, Adam needs all the help he can get. He can't quit the cutting or the drugs or the whisky alone. There's no believing in himself when he can't even be bothered to shave properly these days, because wouldn't that just be a waste of time when he has absolutely no self control?

"Hello?"

Adam exhales. "Hey man."

"Adam? Adam, are you all right?" God, Lawrence. He immediately sounds like someone's take Adam by his shirt collar and held him over the side of a cliff, and now they're in the middle of hostage negotiation. It's Adam who causes this needless panic, Adam who doesn't answer his phone because he's carving his arm again, Adam who causes this fretting Lawrence doesn't know whether he'll come home to find his loved one out on the balcony again or in the closet, holding his knees, or on the bathroom floor in a puddle of his own blood like once before.

The closet. It's dark and warm, it reminds Adam of Lawrence because he can be closed and held up in it, and not worry about much else.

Adam plays with one of the dark curls of hair over his forehead. "I'm, uh… I'm at a bar." And Lawrence will immediately know he's slurring and stumbling over his words.

"You're drunk."

Oh, Lawrence. Stating the obvious.

Adam doesn't have to answer, it's so fucking blatant like spray paint in the projects.

Lawrence sighs, and it's not in an irritated way, at least Adam doesn't think so. He doesn't imagine Lawrence as an impatient person, even though Adam's fucked up so many times that you have to be an angel in order to not end the relationship.

Why doesn't Lawrence leave him?

He should leave. He's bright, and he has so much to offer the world, when all Adam has to offer is laziness and despair. Lawrence shouldn't waste his talents on someone who can't even learn to take care of or love himself yet.

"Yeah," whispers Adam, but he's sure the doctor can hear him regardless. "I'm… I'm so sorry for this again, I… I just…. I swear…" Vanish. Disappear like the headache you've become.

"Adam, it's all right," Lawrence draws in after a long pause. "I know… You're suffering right now. You know I understand that. I know that… you drink in order to fill some sort of void." Correct. A black hole. "Because… I haven't always been there for you, have I. Because… your problems are starting to build up—"

"Lawrence—"

"You realize I want this to work just as much as you do, don't you?"

"Yes!" snaps Adam immediately, shocked that Lawrence would even question such a thing. "I've… I've always wanted this to work." God, he's either gonna pass out or throw up right about now, and neither would be good at this point. "I love you. You know I love you."

He lays his head down on his flattened hand, blubbering like a child. "You know I love you," he repeats. "Everything is just so… difficult. I've tried to convince myself to try suicide so many times, but I—"

Lawrence cuts Adam off again, this time angry. "Adam, please stop thinking about that sort of thing. You know I can't function without you." Adam sits his head up again, sighing. "Listen. I'll be over there in a few minutes, and I'll take you home so you can sleep, all right?"

"Okay."

That's Adam's only response to Lawrence's words, and apparently it's enough for both of them. Because he knows he has to stop this behavior. Adam doesn't truly want to die, even if it is the easiest way away from the darkness snapping at his heels. He just wants everything to stop, to be with Lawrence without staring at that fucking scar on his ankle, without hearing about a fucking Jigsaw trap every time the news is on, without turning over in the middle of the night and waking up because pain shoots through his bad shoulder.

It's the easiest way out. But there's no Lawrence in hell.

When Lawrence arrives at the bar, it could be hours later, but it probably isn't since Adam would've probably thrown up or passed out or be back in a normal state of mind right now. He almost doesn't feel the soft but firm hands pull him out of his chair and carry him to the car. All that's palpable is the warmth when Adam closes his eyes.

They arrive home minutes later, Lawrence carrying Adam inside and shutting the door behind him. Adam groans in response to the sharp slam, but goes along with it anyways. The doctor brings Adam into their bedroom, then lowers him onto a bed that's never been so welcoming to Adam's hurting back, since he'd pretty much been hunched over the entire time in that bar.

The next thing Adam's aware of is something rushing into his mouth, cold and familiar—water. Lawrence lifts Adam's head up slightly and presses a water bottle to his lips, stroking his hair while murmuring things that the little photographer can't quite catch, but so fucking what, Lawrence's voice is so soothing he could be doing the Jason "ch-ch-ch-ha-ha-ha" thing and it would have the same effect.

Once the water is all gone, Lawrence takes it away and unwraps several bandages around Adam's right arm. First, his thumb strokes and traces over the many scars, but soon a pair of lips goes over them instead. Adam just lets himself become limp, so what if Lawrence has revealed his dysthemia trophies? He's too tired to do anything about it.

Eventually Lawrence climbs up onto the bed beside Adam and unwraps the other arm's bandages, starting to kiss the old wounds there as well. Adam tries to ignore the tingling that spreads across his skin after each kiss, but of course doesn't have much luck. "I love you," whispers Lawrence, right next to his ear, then turns Adam over onto his side and presses his face to his chest like usual when the voyeur's having a tough night, when Lawrence can actually be there to comfort him.

Adam curls up against them, tears spilling anyway out of his closed eyes. "I love you too," he whispers, the whisper trembling.

"I'll fix you, Adam. You have my word. Things _will _get better. I promise."

They will.

Adam nods into Lawrence's chest.

Yes, they will.

Even if trying to climb up out of the black hole on a dirty, rocky wall, even if Adam's fingernails splinter and break on the way up, he just has to trust that things will work out. That things will get better. And he could let go and fall to his death, but he has to keep climbing.

No matter what.

He just has to have faith in Lawrence, but has to find faith in himself first.

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Whew. Wrote this at four o clock in the morning. Damn, I'm tired. XD I've been in a really shitty place lately, seeing as my dad has been a douche and we had to give my cat and dog today and I've been depressed for no good reason, so your reviews would make me happy. :D I love you all.


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